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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29160201">A House, Not a Home</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alidravana/pseuds/Alidravana'>Alidravana</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Hurts Like Hell [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>SEAL Team (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood and Injury, F/M, FebuWhump2021, References to Depression, febuwhumpday2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:27:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>393</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29160201</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alidravana/pseuds/Alidravana</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Day 2 Prompt ("I can't take this anymore") for FebuWhump 2021</p><p>An argument between Trent and his wife has a significant impact on their marriage.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Trent Sawyer/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Hurts Like Hell [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2140548</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>febuwhump 2021</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A House, Not a Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Trent sat silently, staring blankly at the door that his wife just stormed out of.  “I can’t take this anymore!” She had screamed across the room at him before slamming the door behind her.  The words echoed through his mind.  He’s not even sure what started the initial argument this time - likely a combination of not being home enough and not being present enough when he was home. </p><p>It wasn’t his fault that it took him a while to decompress when he got back from a mission.  Everyone had their own method of re-acclimatizing.  Sonny liked going to the local strip club, Brock liked going for a run by the water with Cerb, Jason and Ray liked playing with their kids.  Scott wouldn’t admit this to most people, but Trent knew that the first thing he did when they got back was to check in with his parents and make sure they didn’t need anything done around the house.  Trent hadn’t figured out what Clay liked to do yet, the poor kid seemed to be in a constant state of stress.  </p><p>Trent enjoyed going home, being in the peace and quiet and taking in small comforts -  the comfortable sofa in their living room, the smells of fresh baking from their kitchen, their bedroom with the handmade quilt that had been passed down through the Sawyer family for three generations.  But lately, he’s been dragging his feet getting home.  He finds himself in the showers at the base trying to scrub the blood off his hands.  The blood of his brothers, the blood of innocents who have been caught in the crossfire, the blood of those he has injured, the blood of those who he couldn’t help, couldn’t save.  And then, when he finally would make it home, his wife would constantly bombard him with questions and thoughts that he knew were important to her, but he couldn’t find the energy to answer them.</p><p>A loud bang shook Trent out of his depressing thoughts.  It was the front door, swinging in the chilly breeze.  His wife had swung the door so hard earlier that the door didn’t even fully close, it had sprung back open.  Trent sighed and stood up, walking over to the door to shut it firmly, his forehead resting on the door.  She was right.  He couldn’t take this anymore either.</p>
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